


sunburst days

by isthisrubble



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, Movie: SPECTRE (2015), Slice of Life, they're cute help, why yes those are Paul Kelly lyrics in the titles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisrubble/pseuds/isthisrubble
Summary: somewhere to keep all the random James/Madeleine scenes I keep thinking of





	1. thoughts in the middle of the night

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](http://isthisrubble.tumblr.com/tagged/sunburst-days)

It’s maybe two a.m. when she feels James shift beside her, then move closer and slip his arm around her middle.

‘Penny for them.’

Madeleine tips her head so their foreheads are touching. ‘Cheapskate.’

‘Mmm.’ He’s quiet for long enough that she almost thinks he’s fallen asleep again. ‘How long have you been awake?’

‘Not long.’

‘Worried? Or excited?’

‘Neither, just thinking.’

‘ _Really_.’

She turns to face him. ‘It’s just first day jitters, I’ll be fine.’

‘I know you will.’

‘Yes, because you’ve run a clinic before and are definitely an expert.’

He chuckles at that. ‘Name one thing you haven’t exceeded all expectations at.’ He sounds so utterly fond she can feel herself blush. It’s been ten years, she really should be used to it by now.

‘If I do, will you stop?’

‘Yes, dear.’ Singsong. She pinches his side.

‘Ballet.’

He moves again, raises his head. ‘This is completely new information –’

‘ _No_ , James.’

Another minute of silence. ‘If we go to Le Gavroche tomorrow night will you tell me then?’

She pauses, pretends to consider. ‘Well, I guess I _could_ be bribed…’

‘Excellent. It’s a date.’

‘You were just looking for an excuse to take me out, weren’t you.’

James kisses her shoulder. ‘Perhaps. Now go to sleep, you have to get up in a few hours.’

‘Yes, _dear_.’


	2. gathering storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was adapted from something I wrote in my creative writing class today, which is why it's a bit D: sorry

Madeleine crosses her arms and waits. They have had this conversation before, and, she assumes, will have it again. James is stubborn to a fault, and she has almost given up on trying to change any of his behaviour. She does not have enough energy for that anymore.

He has come home teetering on the edge of drunkenness, and soon he will begin the regular excuses. Work was stressful today. He didn’t want to bring his bad mood home to her. And she will admonish him, remind him that he could have taken a transfer out of the 00 section years ago, that the MI6 doctors have been very clear about his risk of permanent liver damage.

Then he'll storm off to sleep in the spare room,  and they won't talk again until tomorrow night.

James hangs his coat on the rack and comes over to her, a picture of reluctance. He won't meet her eyes. This is a break from the script. Something is wrong.

‘James.’ She touches his arm and he finally raises his head.

‘We need to talk.’


	3. sit myself down

James is turning fifty-five in a few weeks, and Madeleine doesn’t have the foggiest idea what she should give him. She doesn’t _have_ to get him something, of course, but she _wants_ to. They don’t exchange presents every birthday, but this is a big one, and they didn’t celebrate his fiftieth… but what do you give a man who already has everything he needs?

Three days before the deadline she finally has an idea that didn’t seem completely ridiculous. It comes while they’re cooking dinner, and she repeats it over and over in her head so she won’t forget it before she has time to sit down alone and think about it.

The thing about her and James is that they don’t really talk about them all that much. They communicate much better than they used to, the massive decrease in arguments over the years is clear evidence of that, but they don’t _talk_ a lot.

She can count the number of times James has said ‘I love you’ on her fingers, but it’s there in his hands and his mouth, in the bouillabaisse and tickets to the Sinfonietta, in the way he holds her at night to keep the darkness at bay. She has never doubted it, and she never will, but talking about it has never felt quite right. So she pours her love into coffee and kisses and long walks through Battersea Park, into comfortable silences and shoulder massages.

It’s not as if either of them are ineloquent. They’re just not vocal about it, and what Madeleine realises while stirring the bolognese sauce is that sometimes it could all just burst out of her, in these moments of happy quiet, and she actually wishes it would. It doesn’t though, but the other thing she realises is that she has that fountain pen and writing set Jie gave her when she took over the clinic, and she’s barely used them.

She writes the letter on her computer first, because James never questions her disappearing into the office for a few hours of keyboard pounding, and she wants to make sure she gets it right before she puts pen to paper. She feels raw and exposed and exhausted by the time it’s done, but not in a bad way. And the penmanship is perfect.

* * *

On James’s birthday Madeleine gets up after him, once he’s left for his run. It’s a Sunday, and he usually cooks breakfast for them both, but she’s not going to let him do any work today. She prepares the bacon and eggs, sets up the coffee machine, and then stands in the middle of the kitchen with her envelope, not sure where to put it. Handing it to him directly feels too exposed – and yes, she knows that’s ridiculous, but she can’t help it – so she opts for balancing it on top of his mug. He always pours his own coffee, so he won’t miss it.

James curls an arm around her when he finds it, rests his chin on her shoulder. ‘What’s this then?’

‘It’s your birthday present.’

‘Really.’ She can hear him opening the envelope and flips the bacon, not looking at him. It’s not that she’s worried about his reaction, it’s just… well. It’s a good thing the heat from the stove is hiding her blush.

He’s quiet for too long. What if it was too much? She could have –

‘Madeleine.’ His voice cracks. ‘Madeleine, come here.’

Turning around, seeing his face, releases a rush of relief so strong she feels almost giddy with it. He’s smiling. He’s smiling wider than she’s probably ever seen him smile.

She takes two steps to him, and they meet in the middle of the kitchen, reaching, touching, James’s hand in her hair, hers slipping under the hem of his t-shirt. He kisses her, hard, and this is familiar territory now, the comfortable give and take, and she presses closer, drinking it in.

Hours, weeks later, they part just enough to press their foreheads together. James’s hand slips up to cup her face, and he looks serious.

‘Madeleine, I.’ He closes his eyes, opens them again. She waits, lets him work out what he needs to say.

‘Will you marry me?’

Then the fire alarm goes off.


	4. like he’d just been hit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might end up in a longer fic later, but I have no idea when that's coming, so.

He wakes with a start, heart pounding, chest heaving. Another nightmare. It can’t have been that bad, because he hasn’t woken Madeleine. He doesn’t remember what the dream was about, which is a relief – not remembering is normal. The sort of nightmares he’s been having lately, ones he can’t quite shake even when awake, are not.

He lies still, gathering himself. Madeleine is sprawled out, half on top of him, head tucked into his shoulder. He’s almost amazed that she’s here. Oh, not on the train, on the way to who-knows-what – he should have known she’d be the type to want to see things through to the bitter end. And not in his bed in the first place – he’s done enough seducing in his time to see that coming. No, he’s surprised that she’s stayed, though a few hours have passed since he drifted off. He didn’t expect her to want to sleep in the same bed as him at all.

That’s the problem with using seduction as a tool: it gets hard, eventually, to tell what’s real and what’s not. He knows how to create sexual tension, how to use it, how to fake it if necessary. But he’s a cynic, used to his partners, the ones he encounters on jobs at least, to be doing the same to him. A means to an end.

He’s not sure what Madeleine is doing. Perhaps she’s just sticking around to make sure they get to Oberhauser, to make sure that he dies, one way or another. Perhaps she is pulling the wool over his eyes completely, knowing that having sex with someone usually makes them trust you, leading him into a trap. He doesn’t think she would, but it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Or perhaps she just wants him. She certainly knows what she’s getting into. He’s genuinely (frustratingly) drawn to her, despite knowing, _remembering_ how stupid getting properly involved is. But maybe it could work. They can finish the job, go home – wherever the hell that is – take some time out. He wants to understand her better. He wants her to let him understand.

Or maybe by tomorrow they’ll both be dead, and this was just the last hurrah.

The predawn light is just showing through the window. If he’s lucky, he might get another hour of sleep.


	5. never thought I’d reach this stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in [this](http://isthisrubble.tumblr.com/post/147591003758/obfuscatress-and-i-confessed-our-secret-hankering) universe because I’m terrible

Mum banishes them from the house after dinner because she wants to concentrate. Privately Charlie thinks it’s because she’s trying to force some father-daughter bonding or something, it’s not as if her Mum doesn’t have noise cancelling headphones she could wear. But she’s not complaining, because Dad brings out his expensive German beer that he never usually shares, and she’s been waiting for an excuse to test out her new speaker, so they sit on the back step drinking beer and arguing over whose music to play.

‘I got my last politics essay back yesterday. Do you still want to read it?’

‘Am I allowed to disagree with you?’

‘Are you gonna start a fight?’ She didn’t talk to him for a day after he read the last one and didn’t like some of her arguments.

He laughs. ‘I don’t want to sleep on the couch again, thank you very much.’

‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’

‘You should be pleased your mum sides with you.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t want to hear about your sex life any more than you want to hear about mine.’

They both pull the same disgusted face at the same time, and then burst out laughing.

‘Yeah, I’ll read it, does it have your tutor’s comments on it?’

‘I’ll send you the marked version if I can download it.’

Charlie finishes her beer and stares across the garden. Her first year of university is nearly over, and it feels really weird. Almost like she’s an adult now.

‘What are you thinking?’

Damn, she’s been caught out. She doesn’t really want to say it out loud, it sounds stupid. So, instead: ‘Tell me a story.’

‘Seriously?’

She pokes him in the ribs and then has a thought. ‘What’s smoking like?’

‘… and you want to know this why, exactly?’

‘Because I’m curious? I don’t know any smokers, and I’m not going to start just to see what it’s like, that’s a trap I’m not falling into. And I know you used to smoke.’

‘That was a long time ago, before I met Madeleine.’ He pauses, furrows his brow. ‘You know how you complain when you open a box of chocolate, and half an hour later you’ve eaten the whole thing and you don’t even remember doing it? Well, it’s like that, but it tastes like shit, makes your teeth and hands look like shit, makes your breath smell like shit, and is actively trying to kill you.’

‘So, really terrible.’

‘But incredibly addictive and a great way to look cool in front for your friends fifty years ago.’

‘Old man.’

He downs the rest of his own beer. ‘Short arse.’

‘One day you’ll shrink, and you won’t be able to say that anymore.’

‘Yeah, one day. You keep waiting.’

Charlie huff and elbows him again, eliciting a chuckle this time. It’s cooling down – they’ll have to move inside soon, Research Digest be damned.

Her dad is thinking of something else, though. ‘Are you doing anything on Friday afternoon?’

‘I’ve got a lecture in the morning, but I can be free after that, why?’

‘I need your help with something, could you get to Hatton Garden by one? I’ll buy you lunch.’

‘What do you need in Hatton Garden?’ She has a sneaking suspicion she knows, but she wants to make him say it out loud. Dad _never_ says this stuff out loud.

‘I want to ask Mum to marry me, I thought you could help me pick the ring.’

‘ _You_ –’

‘Shh!’ He actually looks around like he expects Mum to come through the door any second, even though she’s at the other end of the house. ‘I want to surprise her, you can’t say anything.’

‘I’m not going to say anything, god. But how are you going to do it? You know she’ll work it out quickly, she always knows that stuff.’

He waves a hand dismissively. ‘I’ll figure something out.’ He’s definitely pretending to be calm.


	6. the singing in the blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to spectralarchers on tumblr for answering my questions about france. my apologies if it’s still a mess

It’s only once she steps foot on French soil that she feels like she can breathe again. It’s not as if she hates London, but it’s not home. English might fall easily from her tongue, but it still feels wrong.

This, though, this is home.

She slips out of bed as the sun starts creeping into the room. James shifts a little and she freezes, but he doesn’t wake. Madeleine hesitates, torn between getting outside and wanting to stay and just watch him - without the tension he carries through the day, he looks younger.

Eventually her desire for air wins out. She finds her robe, belts it up and slips past the heavy curtains, through the French (ha!) windows and outside.

It’s still cold, she should have put on shoes – the morning mist is clearing as the sun comes up, but she can still just see her breath in the air in front of her.

She can smell the sea.

They’re only twenty minutes from Le Havre, but their balcony faces North, away from the town, and it’s easy to imagine that the fields stretch on forever in all directions. It’s green as far as she can see, dotted with animals and people – it’s still a working day for everyone else, of course.

She just stands and listens, drinking it all in. Later she’ll take a picture of this view for her mother, or maybe see if she can find a postcard she likes in Octeville-sur-Mer. They used to take day trips here when she was a child, so Maman will probably recognise the landscape.

She hasn’t been back to this part of the country herself since she left for university. First she didn’t have time, then Maman moved and the house was sold, and there was no point – and in the last few years, she’d been too scared.

Octeville hasn’t changed as much as she had expected, and now she finds herself wondering about the village she grew up in – is the church she was baptised in still standing? Is the cinema they used to watch double features in on Thursday nights still open? What about the school?

The house she has no desire to see, if it is even there. But her childhood haunts, the war memorial with her Great Grandfather’s name on it, the beech trees they used to climb – those she would like to see again. And she has all the time in the world now. They could stay here for weeks, if they want to.

The air is warming by the time she hears James moving around inside. A minute later he is on the tiny balcony with her, arms wrapped around her from behind.

‘Are you wearing anything at all?’ There’s no one in their immediate vicinity, but this is a working farm, not a private villa.

‘I put on pants. I’m not a Neanderthal.’

‘Really.’ She says it as dryly as she can, and is rewarded with a chuckle and a kiss pressed into the curve of her collarbone.

They stand like that for a while, just watching the world go by. Eventually James squeezes her hand and asks, ‘have you decided if you want to go to Turretot?’

‘Yes.’ She exhales. ‘And yes.’

‘All right.’ She waits for him to ask more questions, but apparently confirmation is all he needs right now.

‘Come back to bed.’ She leans back to look at him, and gets the now familiar rush of warmth at the look of fondness on his face. She’s still getting used to being this happy without having to wait for the other shoe to drop.

She twists further so she can kiss him, which is more painful than she expects it to be, and starts both of them off laughing until she can turn around to do it properly.

As soon as she’s facing him James slides both hands inside her robe. Madeleine leans back, breaking the kiss. She knows where this is going, and it’s not going to happen out here. ‘You really have a one track mind, don’t you?’

He’s undone the belt of her robe now. ‘We’re on holiday, it’s too early to be up.’

‘Like you don’t get up and run every – _James_.’


	7. maybe this time for sure

They have a white Christmas morning that year. They spend a long, lazy morning in bed, until hunger finally drives them out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. It’s nearly midday before they get to unwrapping presents.

They don’t usually get each other a lot of gifts, and there’s been an unofficial embargo on expensive things since their second Christmas, so they usually get creative – Madeleine has taken to planning elaborate days out and gifting him the itinerary.

He’s broken the ‘no expensive things’ rule a little this year, but it’s been so long since Madeleine has had a holiday, James thinks she’ll forgive him.

Her gift to him this year he knew about in advance – she sent his old Seamaster away to be fully refurbished. It looks beautiful and he puts it on straight away, relishing in the familiar weight.

Madeleine chuckles when he hands her the large envelope. ‘Are you stealing my gift ideas now?’

‘Open it and see.’

The thirty seconds it takes her to skim the first page lasts for decades. Then Madeleine looks up, and her shock is clear on her face. ‘James. What is this?’

‘Did you read it all?’ She looks down again, reading more slowly, and he can see the shock fading into incredulous hope. He’s restraining himself with difficulty – he wants to know what she’s thinking.

‘You’ve retired.’

‘It’s just a transfer. They’re going to chain me to a desk now.’

‘You’ve _retired_.’

‘… Is that okay?’

Madeleine launches herself across the couch at him, engulfing him in a bear hug that knocks him onto his back on the couch. That more or less answers the question.

She’s crying and laughing all at once, and he’s so relieved he starts laughing too. It feels very real now. His time as a field agent is over, and this is a new chapter of their lives opening up, free from the fear that one day he’s going to come home with a bullet embedded somewhere important.

It’s a good feeling.

‘There’s more.’ Madeleine narrows her eyes, but untangles herself from him and scrambles for the envelope, abandoned on the floor.

She pulls out the rest of the pages. Flicks through them. Does it again, more slowly. Raises her head to gape at him.

‘This is…’

‘I saw you looking at it, so I thought – We haven’t been away…’ he trails off because she’s still staring, silent. ‘Madeleine?’

‘This is…’ she swallows, starts again. ‘I can’t possibly take this much time off with such short notice.’

‘I talked to Rob and Jie about it already, they said it’ll be fine.’

Madeleine makes an odd choking noise and covers her mouth. For a moment, he’s worried he’s taken it a bit too far, but then he realises she’s laughing again.

‘You _arse_. I can’t believe you –’ she breaks off into giggles. ‘What about – what about talking to each other before making important decisions?’

‘It’s a cruise, not a _house_.’

‘If you buy a house without telling me, I swear to God –’ he hauls her into his arms before she starts hitting him with a cushion or something. ‘James – _James_. Oh my God, stop.’

He lets her up and she props herself up on his chest. She’s not angry, but if he keeps being flippant about this she might be. Madeleine’s right, they have an agreement about this sort of thing.

‘Sorry. Talk to me.’

‘This is an acceptable surprise. _But_ –’ she shakes a finger at him, then jabs him in the ribs when he laughs. ‘Only because we haven’t been away in two years and you knew I was wanting to go to the Caribbean. And you used your own money, not the joint account.’

‘I would never do that to you, you’d call the bank and try to report it as fraud, then I’d be in trouble.’

‘Arse.’

‘Next time I’ll ask first. It’s a thank you as well as a present, though.’ It’s all a thank you, really, but it’s Christmas. ‘You’ve been worrying about me for years, after all.’

‘And I’m glad it’s over.’ She kisses him. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was time.'


	8. after the show where shall we go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to obfuscatress for reading this and helping me out with some bits I wasn’t sure of

Oh God, he’s not dead. She’s not dead. Neither of them are even shot.

‘What do we do now?’

They just stare at each other in shock for a few seconds, trying to get their breath back. James looks slightly stunned. He gives himself a shake, like a dog, as if to clear his head, and Madeleine frowns – she missed a good portion of the fight, but she saw his head hit something hard at least twice. He could be concussed.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Me?’ he says, like no one ever asks him that. Maybe no one does. ‘You hit your head pretty hard.’

‘So did you.’ He looks almost normal now, and she remembers that this is just another day at the office for him.

That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be worrying about head injuries.

She gathers her dress up as best as she can, and crouches over him so she can get a better look at his head. These shoes are not good for her balance.

He jerks his head away at first, and she nearly jabs him in the eye. ‘Will you stop? I want to check for concussion.’ There’s at least one lump buried under his hair, and she has half a mind to poke it so that he’ll start taking this seriously.

 ‘I’ve been concussed before, I know what it feels like, I’m fine.’

There’s somehow no blood, so she ploughs on. ‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Train. Morocco.’ James actually rolls his eyes.

‘What’s your middle name?’

‘Andrew.’ He tilts his head at her. ‘I could be making that up.’

‘I don’t think you are,’ she says, and it’s true. ‘Can you make a fist for me?’

He does so, then rotates it both ways without prompting. ‘Happy now?’

She brushes his hair back. ‘I should check your eyes.’

‘I can see. No blurred vision or anything.’ James catches her arm, and now he looks more serious. ‘What about you? Dizzy spells? Know what your name is?’

‘I’m all right. Just a little shaken.’ She’ll be black and blue tomorrow, but in the grand scheme of things that’s not too concerning.

She closes her eyes and breathes. They’re both alive. Somehow.

Gradually Madeleine becomes aware that she probably doesn’t need to be so close to James anymore. Or straddling his legs. At some point in the last few minutes, one of James’s hands has settled on her hip. And she’s still cupping his face with one hand.

She opens her eyes again. James is looking straight at her with a completely indescribable look on his face.

Perhaps this is inevitable after all.

Kissing James Bond is not as earth-shattering as she expected it to be. He’s not as forceful as she was expecting either, and after the rough handling she’s put up with over the last few days, it’s such a relief that she melts into him a little, and he responds by pulling her closer, sliding his hand under the folds of her dress, and _oh_ , now –

The train suddenly shudders and slows, brakes screaming. Someone has finally worked out what’s happened. She looks down at James, who has frozen in place. A second later Madeleine hears what he must have heard – running footsteps and shouting.

‘Train security,’ he breathes in her ear.

‘What should we –’

Suddenly the footsteps are right there, and she practically throws herself off his lap, feeling stupidly like a teenager who’s been caught sneaking around by her mother.

‘It’s all right,’ says James to the confused security officers. ‘He fell out the door.’

The situation devolves from there.

* * *

Madeleine lets James deal with the train staff. As far as she can gather, that mainly consists of bribing them, with a little sweet-talking thrown in. In the end, the train restarts its journey and the police aren’t called, or at least, won’t be until after they’ve disembarked. Madeleine is relieved, if not a little put out at how easily the security officers are persuaded to abandon their duty. At least the train’s medical officer insists on examining both her and James.

Somehow neither of them are concussed – Madeleine knows she broke one fall with her elbow, but she saw James hit his head extremely hard at least once, and it looks like he’s completely unaffected. She almost wishes she could get him in a CT scanner so she can see how on earth he’s managed that – he must have a very shock-absorbing skull.

The corridors are dark and empty by the time they are able to return to their quarters. In the dark, the train’s rhythm seems more unstable, or at least that’s what she’s telling herself as she catches his arm, clinging a little. The other reason can only lead to – well.

He stops her at the door to their carriage. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

She is, but she still can’t quite believe it herself. ‘I think so.’ Something flickers in his eyes, and he shifts away from her, just a little. Oh. That wasn’t what he was asking.

Madeleine closes the gap between them again, their noses almost touching. ‘You heard the nurse. I’m in full control of my mental facilities.’

‘Oh really.’ He’s almost smiling.

She catches the front of his shirt and reels him in.


	9. no water in the well

She has no idea what the argument starts about, but it ends with the living room and two broken glasses between them, fury and exhaustion thick in the air.

‘I thought we were _happy!_ ’

‘Well you _would, wouldn't you!_ ’

James recoils like he’s been slapped, and she feels a bit of sick satisfaction. Serves him right.

‘I don’t want to fight with you.’

Madeleine laughs, sharp, bitter. ‘Well it’s too late for that now, don’t you think?’

James turns his back on her now, goes to stare out the French doors. She puts a hand on the back of one of the chairs for stability, holds on so hard her knuckles go white. There’s no going back from this now.

When James speaks again, he sounds like he’s aged fifty years. ‘Madeleine… I don’t understand.’

‘This –’ she gestures around, at the sea view, ‘this is all what you want. The traveling, the beach, everything. It's all you. What about what I want?’

He scratches the back of his neck. She knows he does that when he’s confused. They’ve been living together for six months and she knows all his tells and yet he has no idea why she’s upset. ‘I thought we both wanted this.’

‘But you never asked, did you?’ She’s unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, even though she doesn’t want to fight with him either, she just wants everything to _stop_.

‘You said… I suggested it and you said yes.’

She’s going to cry, she’s going to cry and she hates, hates, hates him. ‘Well, I didn’t think it was too much to ask for you to _notice_ when I’m _not happy!_ ’

‘Why do you think we left Marseille! I thought you needed, I don’t fucking know, a change of scene, or–’

‘Then _ask!_ You don’t get to _make that decision for me!_ ’

She thinks, for a moment, that he’s going to throw a punch, although at what she can’t tell. ‘Fine. Fine, you want – what the hell do you _want?_ ’

‘I want –’ her throat catches. She stops and takes a breath. ‘Don’t you get sick of moving? Ever?’

‘You want to settle down.’ He says it like it’s a death sentence.

She closes her eyes. ‘I miss going to work and coming home every day. I miss – I haven’t felt safe getting attached to a place in years, I just – I want that again.’

When she opens her eyes again James is sitting on the couch, staring at the ceiling. ‘I can’t do that. You know I can’t.’

She doesn’t know. She’s had a sneaking suspicion, but she hasn’t dared think about it too much. ‘James…’

‘I can settle in one place, or I can stay away from MI6. Pick one.’

The air in her lungs seems to shatter. ‘Don’t – don’t put it on me, like I’m being _unreasonable_ –’

‘You’re not, I just – fuck, Madeleine.’

She can’t stop herself from crying, ugly, shaking sobs clawing their way out of her chest. Everything she’s dreaded for weeks is happening now, any semblance of happiness slipping through her fingers. She’s losing everything.

When James reaches for her, hesitant like he never has been before, she practically falls into his arms. She can’t lose him. She can’t.

‘God, darling, I’m sorry.’ He sounds nearly as choked up as she is.

She can’t keep him either.

They stand together like that for a long time.

‘I love you,’ she manages finally. All the fight has gone out of her. ‘But I can’t keep going like this. You know how I feel about that kind of work, and if you can’t not, I can’t… I can’t.’

He curls a hand in her hair. ‘I thought it would be easier. I knew, but… I don’t know what I thought.’

He kisses her forehead and she closes her eyes again. Neither of them move to let go of each other, but it still feels like a goodbye.


End file.
